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A Bird Pooped on My Head and Other Life-Changing Moments

True story: a peaceful morning, blue sky, the smell of damp leaves on the sidewalk, birds chirping with enthusiasm that can only mean one thing—trouble. I’m out walking my adorable Papillon, Blueberry (who is, let’s be honest, the true star of my writing life), when BAM.

Something hits me.

Not metaphorically. Not spiritually. Physically. With a plop.

I know immediately. There’s no mystery here. I’m a cozy mystery author, and even I don’t need clues for this one.

A bird just pooped on me.

Right on the head. Bullseye. Olympic-level accuracy. Somewhere, that bird is getting high-fived by its feathered friends and earning itself a tiny gold medal for "Most Precise Aerial Delivery."

And let me tell you—it was disgusting.

So there I am, frozen on the sidewalk, trying not to scream in front of my dog, who is looking up at me like, “Why are you standing still, and also… ew.” I sprint home, Blueberry bouncing along beside me, clueless to the drama, and I leap into the shower like I’m auditioning for a shampoo commercial—only with more shrieking.

Once clean and semi-recovered, I do what any rational human would do: I Google, “What does it mean when a bird poops on you?”

According to the Internet (which has never lied to me), it means good luck in many cultures.

Now. I don’t know which cultures these are, but I have questions. Who decided this? Was it an ancient optimist trying to make the best of a very bad day? Or just someone with really poor aim who needed a reframe?

But you know what? I’m choosing to believe it. Because life is a bit like that, isn’t it?

Stuff happens. Weird, messy, unexpected stuff. You’re walking along minding your business, and life throws bird poop at your head. Metaphorically. (And sometimes very, very literally.)

But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe good luck isn’t about lottery wins or overnight success. Maybe it’s about how you choose to look at things. Maybe the real good fortune is having the chance to reframe a situation, to laugh when you want to cry, and to share that ridiculous, poopy moment with readers who will nod and say, “Yep. Been there.”

As a writer, especially one who specializes in cozy mysteries full of quirky characters and small-town chaos, I’ve learned that the most relatable moments are often the messy, unplanned ones. The ones you didn’t see coming. The ones you think ruined your day but end up inspiring a blog post and giving your readers a giggle.

And maybe, just maybe, that unexpected splat from above was a cosmic reminder to keep my head up, even when things get gross.

So the next time life gets messy, whether it’s metaphorical bird poop or the real deal, remember this: you might not be able to control the sky, but you can control the story you tell about what lands on you.

As for me? I’m starting this week believing I’m lucky. And yes—I’m avoiding trees for a little while.

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